


The Shield of House Aeducan

by anthologyofwhat (lea_hazel)



Series: Tales of Wicked Princess [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Class Issues, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Orzammar, Prompt Fic, Royalty, Sparring, Women In Power
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 15:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/anthologyofwhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young princess or Orzammar and her First, plus sparring and naked ambition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Shield of House Aeducan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/gifts).



“My lady.” 

He was waiting for her, as was his custom, just outside her bedroom door. Gorim never entered her chamber without explicit invitation, which was more than Katren could say for either her younger or elder brother. Trian swept imperiously through the palace as though the crown of Orzammar rested invisibly just above his pate, while Bhelen just brushed past anyone who objected to his liberties with oily words and twisted logic. Even her esteemed father, despite her best intentions, still treated her a little as a child who needed comforting. 

But Katren Aeducan was now sixteen years old. Had she been born to the warrior caste, like her First, she would have been down in the Deep Roads by now. It was only because of her father’s concern, and her mother’s distinguished lineage, that her warrior’s training was still confined to sparring matches. Gorim, at least, never spared her the bite of his sword. He knew as well as she did that the shield of House Aeducan would earn her no respect among the squabbling nobles unless she could wield it. 

“The Proving Grounds or the training hall, my lady?” 

“The training hall, Gorim,” she said firmly. 

“Your diligence does you credit, my lady,” said Gorim, and the shine in his eyes told her he meant every word. 

It also foretold what she had already suspected: Gorim enjoyed their sparring sessions almost as much as she did. He stood and watched as she picked out her weapons from the armory, running her finger over the blades of the daggers, testing the weight of several swords before finally settling on one that was light enough, but with plenty of reach. The axes and maces she glanced at briefly, and the shields she ignored. 

“Are you certain this is the path of training you wish to commit to, my lady?” asked Gorim, not for the first time. 

If her First had any flaws, being overly persistent was chief among them. “Yes, quite sure,” she said. “The lighter weapons suit my style and pace much better.” 

“A shield can offer you more protection,” he argued. 

“But a dagger,” she said, “does more damage. If you want to get ahead in life, Gorim, you have to take some chances.” 

“Right,” said Gorim. He did not look convinced. 

“Come,” she said, waving him along. “Let us spar. We only have the morning. If I wish to convince Piotin to let me buy into his silverite venture, I’ll have to catch him before tonight’s banquet. He always drinks too much when presented with the opportunity.” 

“As you wish, my lady.” 

Now. _That_ was what she liked to hear. 


End file.
